


50 Shades of Us - Ongoing Series - Chapter 4 Up

by NothingRemainsUnsaid



Category: 50 shades of grey, Hyena (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingRemainsUnsaid/pseuds/NothingRemainsUnsaid
Summary: 50 Shades-inspired fanfic. Geumja and Hee Jae work out kinks in and out of the bedroom.
Kudos: 12





	50 Shades of Us - Ongoing Series - Chapter 4 Up

Disclaimer: I don't own Hyena or any of its characters.

_“For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation...Love is a high inducement to the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world for himself for another's sake, it is a great exacting claim upon him, something that chooses him out and calls him to vast things.”_

\- Rainer Maria Rilke

**Prologue**

“The police called,” Ji Eun says. “They have him in custody.”

Geumja and Hee Jae are discussing a case when Ji Eun announces the news. One look at her assistant’s face and she already knows.

“They’ve got Song’s man,” she says instead. Ji Eun nods. It’s convenient when you and your assistant share a braincell.

“Who?” Hee Jae asks.

“The one who stabbed me. The guy who tried to kill me.”

That means another conversation with the police. Geumja will have to recount the assault. She’ll have to talk about her stepdad, too, for the nth time. Hee Jae looks at her, worry in his eyes.

*

“Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He doesn’t say a thing. She sighs, her attention on the blur of passing buildings outside the car.

“I know you’re not okay.” He keeps his eyes on the road. But he’s aware of her shifting in her seat, facing him.

“I didn’t want him around. I threatened him, told him I’d send him back to jail. So, that he’d stop calling me, stop stalking me, stop reminding me that he exists. But I didn’t want him dead because of me.”

“He’s dead because someone took a knife to him. He’s not dead because of you.”

At a stoplight, he glances over to her and asks: “What do you feel now that he’s gone?” She doesn’t meet his gaze and turns to look out the window instead.

“Relieved. I’m finally free.”

He studies the window for a moment. He doesn’t say anything about the muted sadness reflected in her eyes.

*

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, days later.

He stands in the middle of the room, looking at her. She’s on the couch. It’s probably second-hand. Ji Eun must have found it in a flea market and bought it at a bargain. Geumja still sleeps here, at the Choong office, keeping it as her home base after they moved offices to the new building.

She looks at him now. He can tell she doesn't want to say anything. Not a word. But he pours her a glass of soju and she sighs. She takes the shot, knocking it back and grimacing.

“I planted the evidence that sent him to jail.” Hee Jae only nods and listens. He doesn’t want to interrupt this story. He has a feeling that she needs to get this out.

“I stabbed myself to get him behind bars. I drove that knife into my gut so I can see him rot away in jail—”

“You would have died if you hadn’t. I’ve seen the records. He never would have stopped. Maybe it’s time you stopped feeling guilty about that, Jung Geumja.”

Her eyes widen in surprise.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’ve been studying up on you.”

Maybe that’s an understatement. He wants to know everything about her: her past, her mind, her heart. He considers her the greatest test of all his life. If he wants them to have a solid chance at happiness, she needs to know she can trust him.

That's why he doesn’t bring up her past; he wants her to bring it up herself. He’s heard from Ju Ho how he once caught Geumja up on the ledge. Imagine being that young, being that close—just one step away—from certain death.

What had she felt when she’d driven that knife to the hilt? Imagine reaching a point where stepping off a building and stabbing yourself meant the same thing: freedom and escape. She’d put herself within a hairsbreadth of death for a chance to live.

She’d been willing to pay that price to turn her life around.

He’s seen her bully clients, stand up to heiresses, as well as stomp all over gangsters, mobsters, and entitled pricks without breaking a sweat. He’s glimpsed the compassion and guilt she fights so hard to hide. He’s been at the receiving end of her determination, quick wits, and ruthlessness in court. He admires all sides of this woman.

But—her courage—well, her courage terrifies him.

*

At his words, she closes her eyes briefly. He sits down beside her on the couch and slowly, she moves until she’s nestled into his side. She leans her head on his chest.

“Why are you here? Why did you come?”

He recalls another time, another conversation just like this. When he’d rushed inside to find her struggling to shake off a nightmare. He wants to tell her he can’t stay away; that he loves her; that she’s displaced everything else that’s important in his life. But he doesn’t want to make this moment about him. Instead, he says something he’s already said once, hoping that she’ll believe him if she keeps hearing the same words even if he has to say them a thousand times over.

“So, I can do this. So, I can be with you like this.”

She makes a weak, scoffing noise in her throat. But she nestles closer. He rubs circles on her back, soothing her. He feels the warmth of her skin and tries to tamp down on his desire. This isn’t what she needs right now. He kisses her brow instead.

He basks in the soft weight of her body, surrounded by her scent. She falls asleep in his arms, listening to the slow beating sound of his heart.

____

_"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."_

\- Oscar Wilde

_“Anyone who is in love is making love the whole time, even when they're not. When two bodies meet, it is just the cup overflowing. They can stay together for hours, even days. They begin the dance one day and finish it the next, or--such is the pleasure they experience--they may never finish it. No eleven minutes for them.”_

\- Paulo Coelho

**1**

**Months Later**

Hee Jae looks over from reading a contract, catching a glimpse of Geumja working right across the hall. Issume had hired Choong after Song fell into disrepute. It hadn’t taken long before Geumja had more than enough funds to buy the skyscraper she’d set her eyes on. They’d turned one of the floors into their HQ and rented out the rest.

They’d agreed to put their offices right across from each other, mirroring the setup of their old offices at Song & Kim, including the walls of glass. He only needs to look up to see what she’s up. From his desk, he can admire her profile with ease. The big, bright eyes. The wonderfully expressive face. The softest pair of lips, one that he wants to kiss.

_Is she beautiful because I love her?_

He’s not wrong. She has one of the most arresting faces he’s ever seen. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at her perfect side profile at odd times of the day. It’s silly enough to make him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. The body underneath those suits, though, reminds him he’s no longer a boy.

The only problem is, she doesn’t seem to see what he does. When he looks at her, he sees a woman who’s survived hell; who hasn’t lost herself even after going through the worst. Her spirit is intact. It is this intactness—this wholeness—that he loves the most. It is this resilience, this emotional strength, that ties his heart into knots.

To have survived all that and come out, still relentless in her ambition and able to dream, still so determined, snarky, and vital, makes him love her even more. Against all that, it exasperates him whenever she thinks he can still find someone else. What does he need to do or say to show her he’s here for good?

It angers him, of how little she thinks of herself, of the effect she has on him if she believes he can trade her for anyone else now or ever. He doesn't want—or need—to ask friends and family to help him find a nice lady. He’s already found the right one for him and she’s sitting in the messy office right across his.

Before his musings continue any further, though, his alarm sounds. He glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s past 5 pm. He packs up his gear and in moments, he’s heading out the door.

*

She feels him staring. If she looks up, she’ll catch his gaze. Moments like this make her wonder: why does he think so much of her? Why is he spending his time and attention on someone older than him, with little to no family connections, and none of the ingrained grace or familiarity of someone born in the right social circle, a place to which his entire family clearly belongs?

“He’ll be furious if he hears that, though,” she chuckles at the thought. He doesn’t like it when she touches on the gap in their stations and backgrounds. He doesn’t see it the way she does. He doesn’t see her the way she does.

They’ve already slept together a few times. And, God, each one’s better than the last. That should be enough to get her out of his system, though.

Why is he still around then, still pursuing her? Why does he still think she’s worth anything?

She’s lived long enough to know how cutthroat the world is. Most of the people she’s met only look out for themselves. Over the years, she’s learned to trust Ji Eun and Ju Ho. But even with them, it’s easy to hold back.

Until Hee Jae came along. He makes her question the way she sees the world, makes her weary of the sacrifices she doesn’t even realize she’s making.

_“Is it all just money and power to you?”_

_No._

She’s gotten what she wants. Now that this building is under her name, what goal does she set for herself this time? Other than making Choong one of the biggest power players in the industry, what else does she want to make room for in her life?

_“Is it all just money and power to you?”_

_No._

She shakes her head.

_Now, there’s you._

That makes her want to sneak a peek over at the man dutifully going over contracts at his desk in the office across from hers. But she doesn’t want him to catch her stealing a glance at him like a schoolgirl with a crush.

He doesn’t know he’s already won, though. And she wants to keep it that way. He doesn’t know it’s only a matter of time before it starts to show how hopelessly in love with him she is, too.

*

If she has faith in anything, it’s in the fact that she can trust him. Even when they argue over case details, even when they don’t stand on the same moral high ground, she can count on him to be there.

What’s more of a revelation to Geumja, perhaps, is this: that he can count on her, too. It’s been so long since she’s been there for anyone. She doesn’t know or remember how. She knows only one thing: that she can’t let him down. She can’t leave him feeling he’s all alone.

Her musings are interrupted when he stands up and starts putting things into his gym bag. Before long, he’s striding out of the office, his long legs eating up the distance in the hallway. She turns her attention back to the file on her desk when he passes by her open door.

*

She can see the gym from here. She’d just bought herself a cup of coffee from the shop on the same floor. She knows it’s only an excuse so she can go over to this spot, where she enjoys the perfect view.

Her timing is impeccable. He’s starting to work up a sweat. She likes that because it means she won’t have long to wait before… Yep, there he goes. He strips off his shirt, using it to try and wipe some of the excess sweat off the perfect planes of his face and neck, his chest. The rest of his body is aglow with sweat—the firm flex of muscles along his shoulders, the toned tummy, the hard thighs—

He looks up and sees her through the glass walls. His whole face lights up with a smile.

She forgets to breathe.

_That’s your cue_ , she reminds herself. She smirks, making sure he sees it, before she turns around, bringing the cup of coffee up to her office.

_You always look at him._

_I don’t,_ she argues against the voice in her head.

_You do._

_Well, what’s the harm? Any woman alive would. With a body like that? His abs are enough to set fire to—_

_You’re not thinking about his abs right now—_

_Dammit self._

The worst thing about having conversations with yourself is that you can’t ever hide from the truth. She shakes her head a little in a move to dispel the thought, trying to convince herself the sudden warmth she feels in her belly is from the coffee she had yet to drink, or from all the sweat sliding down his collarbone to his abs while he’s bench-pressing weights at the gym, and not—never—from the way his whole face lights up with a smile whenever she’s around.

*

He takes off his coat first. Then he loosens his tie. In another hour or so, he stands up, stretches, and in a move that seems designed to torture her, takes off his dress shirt. It only lasts for a few moments: he stands in his office under the glare of the lights, his upper body bare to her gaze until he reaches into a side cabinet for a fresh shirt. He’ll shrug into it, sit back down at his desk and she’ll pretend that the file in front of her is the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

She’s gotten used to the sight of his abs anyway. If she’s breathing a little harder, a little faster, no one else needs to know. No one else will be able to tell.

*

Does she know how much those suits drive him crazy? The bulky blazers and mannish cuts in bright colors only serve to bring into focus the very female body underneath. He also loves it when she goes casual and pairs her tops and blazers with jeans. The casual fit, her long, toned legs, and the sway in her hips when she walks in tight jeans—all leave him distracted in a way he can’t stand, at least not for much longer.

But the days when she goes to work in a tracksuit under her blazer—like today—are the worst. That combination just about kills him. He never realized how tempting a tracksuit can be, not until he’s seen her pulling the zipper down slowly, revealing her collarbone, uncovering pale, white skin.

He knows she only means to loosen the tracksuit. Her hand doesn’t even go further than the hollow at the base of her throat before she’s mussing up her hair again, lost in thought, busy with work. As he should be. But his mind is already elsewhere. Seeing her fidget with the zipper undoes him.

For the next hour or two, he buries himself in contracts just to keep his hands off her. To keep from striding across the hall, hauling her to her feet, and knocking some of the files off her desk as he finally kisses her senseless.

**2**

She knocks on his door, bearing a pack of beer.

It’s a compromise since his taste runs to wine and she likes soju. When she says: “Let’s get wasted,” he can’t say no, not to that smile or the expression in her eyes.

“You’re in a good mood tonight.” He nearly says flirty. She’s irresistible like this, the soft expression in her eyes makes his heart beat faster. Before he can pull his chair back, and stand up, she’s walking over.

With a careless sweep of her arm, she knocks some of the files off his desk and places the pack on the space she’s cleared, her eyes still locked onto his. The pull of those big, brown eyes is hypnotic. His throat dries up, but he still attempts to speak. He used to be Song & Kim’s ace in the courtroom. He’s never found himself in a situation that leaves him tongue-tied—until he’d met this woman. Now, it’s a common reaction to most of everything she does.

“I think you should pick that up—”

“And I think you should lose this shirt—” she says, as she pushes him back against the chair. He follows her instructions willingly, lounging back in the chair, his hands loosening the tie around his neck.

But when she leans over, the tip of a finger running from the top of his dress shirt down to his chest and even lower, his hand snakes around her wrist, gently. Her brow arches elegantly and he wonders why he finds that so sexy.

“What are you doing?”

“Aren’t we drinking tonight?” Her naughty smile tells him she’s up to something, though.

“We are—”

“Then take off your shirt—”

“Why?”

“If you don’t want to play, I’ll just find someone else. Maybe I should call Kev—”

He’s out of the chair and catching up to her in seconds. Just as she’s about to step out of his door, he turns her around, pulls her back into his office, a hand on her waist. It’s the first time he’s touched her since they’ve been together—a weeks ago now—and somehow, the warmth of his hand seems to seep through her tracksuit, into her skin.

He tugs her closer and she takes a tiny step back, smirking at him. Geumja tips her head to the chair and he grins. He sits right back, loosening his tie as goes, unbuttoning his shirt. When he tries to take the tie off, though, she shakes her head.

“Leave it on—”

“Jung Geumja—”

But she only gives him a naughty, impish grin and he releases a laugh, shaking his head at her. Confident and in control, she’s formidable. But cheeky and irreverent like this, God help his soul. He doesn’t have any defenses against this Geumja.

She smiles at him, reaching out for a can of beer and twisting the lid off. Before he can wonder about what she’s going to do, she straddles him. He’s never been thankful for Ji Eun’s taste in retro office furniture, but he’s grateful she chose solid furniture, one that can handle their combined weight. He puts a hand on Guemja’s back, the other one on her hip, keeping her in place, and holding onto her just in case she loses her balance.

He’s surprised when she brings the can to his lips. He takes a sip, but she nods encouragingly, telling him to drink more. One hand wraps around the back of his neck, in as much as for support as for contact.

“I don’t like the taste of beer much—”

“Well, then, we can try something else—” He has drinks stashed in his office: cognac, vodka, tequila, wine. But before he can decide which one to offer, she pulls on his tie. The pressure continues until he finds her face inches from his. She then leans over and licks his lower lip. Slow. His brain freezes. When her tongue meets his, he doesn’t hold back anymore. He dives in.

After a long, breathless kiss, her hands push his bare shoulders away. They break apart, panting. She gives a saucy smile and reaches for the open can of beer she’s placed on his desk, takes a swig, and turns back to him.

When she opens her mouth and the drink spills into his, he decides he likes his beer this way: Geumja-flavored. When he kisses her, he chases the slightly bitter taste through her mouth as he sucks on her tongue. They do this a few more times, entertained by the way their unique flavors change the taste of the beer.

“I think I like it this way,” she says softly, as though confessing a secret. “Maybe I’m meant for wicked things.”

He smiles, finding her cute, just like that night at the bar when she’d joked around, saying: “You missed me.” She’s probably already a little bit tipsy. Or a lot. That explains why she’s a little out of character tonight, why there’s a soft expression in the wide brown eyes he knows so well.

Given the moment, he’s surprised at the tenderness that sneaks into his heart. Here he is, arms full of the sexy, exasperating woman who’s been driving him crazy ever since they met and all he can think about is how cute her smile is, how the sight of her—carefree and laughing— sends happiness shattering through his soul.

_You’ve got it bad, Hee Jae,_ the voice in his head says.

He wholeheartedly agrees.

*

She finally takes off his tie before she continues to play, upending the can a little more over his neck, his upper chest, and his first thought is that the beer is cold. Only to moan aloud when she licks if off his skin, tracing a path over his collarbone, biting the pulse lightly at the base of his throat. His breathing quickens.

The beer leaves a sticky residue and she likes that. She licks it, tasting the saltiness of his skin and the bitter taste of beer. She tips more of the drink onto him and fascinated with the way he responds to her, leaves hickeys all over his chest.

His moans excite her even more, and when she wraps her lips around one nipple, he groans. It feels heady, to have this much power over him. The hands around her hip hold her even tighter. She doesn’t mind. She wants to make Hee Jae groan in her arms like this every day.

When she bites the side of his neck, lightly, she’s surprised at the sudden tight hold of his palm on her nape, tipping her face up urgently. In the next instant, he’s kissing her. It’s hot, hungry, and just a little on this side of feral.

She breaks off the kiss, drawing oxygen into her lungs. He pulls her back in, though, deepening the contact, giving as good as he gets. When she breaks it off again, he tips his head up. The naughty smirk, the heavy-lidded eyes, the panting breath all short-circuit his neurons faster than he can breathe. He can’t think beyond one thought—

“I want you inside me now,” she whispers, her voice low and breathy. It’s the tone she uses when she wants him to take over, the one he usually hears in the bedroom. It fires up his blood to hear it here now, at the office, where she’s usually untouchable, where they remain professional, keeping touches to a minimum.

His control snaps. He only has enough sanity left to ask: “Here?” Her mouth on his is all the answer he needs. In a moment, he stands up from the chair, carries her briefly before he puts her down on his desk, his files, and the rest of the beer forgotten, lying on the floor. She laughs, the sound so rare, it almost stops him in his tracks. But excitement overtakes him.

He’s so smooth and self-assured in court. No one will believe it if they see him now: how his hands tremble whenever he touches her. But they do. They fumble with zippers. She laughs. His ego would’ve probably taken a beating from that, if not for the fact that he knows she’s just as excited—just as lost in the moment—as he is.

Then he’s sliding into the tightest, wettest heat he’s ever known. She groans and shudders in his arms. No one’s at the office anymore except for them. No one will hear her scream. He can feel her gasping for breath, panting against the side of his neck. He pulls back and drives into her again, harder, and her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, her collarbone.

He pulls down the zipper of her tracksuit the rest of the way and confirms what he’s been thinking about since he first saw her arrive at the office this morning: she’s not wearing anything underneath. Whoever invented tracksuits has his enormous gratitude.

He watches her breathing change with every patch of skin he reveals, the gentleness a contrast to the movement of his hips, to the light bruises forming on her hips from his tight hold. Then he dips his head until his mouth latches onto skin: the side of her throat, the spot over her heart, the sensitive tip of a breast. She convulses and screams.

**3**

The thought of kissing Jung Geumja excites him. Beyond the physical pleasure, it’s the sheer knowledge that he gets to see her the way others never do or will. That she lets him get this close to her when none have been before is a bigger treat—and threat—to his heart.

But he’s not going to think about that now. He’s not going to worry about where they’ll end up or when. He knows wherever that is, he’ll be right by her side.

Falling in love for the first time was always going to be intense. At 37, he hadn’t expected it to happen. He hadn’t known how much he’d lose and gain the moment he’d stepped into that laundromat and seen Geumja; how he’d end up with a crippling sense of humiliation and self-doubt from their subsequent skirmishes; or how these would eventually expand his capacity to let people into his life, opening him up to the ultimate disorder—love—and the wild card of human happiness.

*

Falling in love, Geumja discovers, is as troublesome as they all say. Experiencing it when you’re 41 is even more so. It’s all of that annoying presence: having him show up at nearly everywhere she is. It’s seeing something that triggers all the dark knowledge of his kisses, one that weakens her knees 10 minutes before she heads into a meeting. It’s all the fuzzy, warm feelings in her chest when she thinks of him even when he’s not around.

Sometimes, she wonders about him marrying someone else. Men don’t tie the knot with 40-year old women when they can choose younger ones. Besides, he’ll want kids, won’t he? Yeah, he definitely will.

She doesn’t know if she has it in her to raise a child or even give birth to one.

_And why do you think you’re going to end up the mother of his child, anyway?_

_It’s just a hypothetical question—_

Who is she kidding?

At her age, she understands herself and knows herself too well to even lie about what she wants. One particular drawback (out of countless ones, it seems) is this: the more she knows herself—her abrasiveness, her scars, her sheer ineptitude in offering solace, the more astonishing, even impossible, it seems that Hee Jae—or anyone else—will ever want to take her on.

She doesn’t want to take on anyone else, too, though.

_But what about Hee Jae?_

Whatever she feels for him, it’s nowhere near half of anything she’s felt for anyone else. His love is powerful enough to overbalance the isolation she’s lived with for so long. It breaks through the emotional reserve that’s always held her back.

This time, she wants to believe him.

Beyond the thought that he loves her, it’s being alive to the idea that she deserves to have someone devoted to her happiness. His love reinvents her, giving her the most beautiful image of herself: undefeated, whole, and wholly deserving of love.

*

Today is a rare Saturday. They’re both on the couch and have nothing else to do. The gamut of Netflix shows awaits. They share a snack while browsing through the programs, digging into a bowl of Auntie Anne’s almond crusted sticks of goodness. Geumja has a fondness for the matcha-flavored breadsticks.

He absently breaks off a small piece and extends that to her. She leans over, taking it in her mouth. But unlike all the other times he’s fed her tiny bites this morning, her tongue licks his fingers slowly this time before covering the piece of bread, swallowing it whole.

The contact makes him forget everything else: the show, the snacks, and maybe even for a second, his own name. He turns to her, trying to gauge her mood, to see what she’s up to. But she only stares ahead. It must be his overheated imagination, then, he thinks as he tries to calm down, willing his spiking heart rate to settle.

The next time she licks his fingers, though, he tells himself not to be surprised. He calmly turns to her, but her eyes are focused only on the screen, seemingly engrossed in whatever’s happening. Meanwhile, he’s long stopped caring about the film.

He’s onto her, though. This time, he can tell she’s breathing faster. It tells him she isn’t as unaffected as she wants him to believe.

When she does it for the third time, he sets the bowl over on the kitchen table. She’ll want those snacks after they’re done. Then he sits back down and studies her. The racing pulse along her neck is enough of a tell.

“Jung Geumja.” His voice is deep and dark with lust.

At the sound of her name, she turns to him—finally, fully—and he sees the clouded, intense look in those beautiful brown eyes. Beyond the sexual tension that charges the air, it’s the knowledge of who and what they are to each other, what they can do to each other’s bodies with a look, and what they can make each other feel with a touch or a kiss, that overtakes his breathing.

The thought of that connection gets him hard in an instant.

She looks at him with that irrepressibly saucy grin, tipping her head to one side as though to issue a challenge.

“Why’d you put the bowl away?”

_Are you really up for this?_

_Do you know what you’re taking on?_

_Do you really want this? Me?_

The look in her eyes makes Hee Jae smile. He understands she’s no longer talking about the snacks. He’s long realized that Geumja trusts him. He doesn’t know when or how that happened. When he declared his feelings for her, there was no doubt in his mind that she’d believe him, sooner or later.

The more important question was: would she trust her own feelings?

That makes this moment a milestone. Anyone—even a blind man—can see how much he loves this woman. He can tell she feels the same. But believing she loves him and knowing she does are entirely two different things.

She can love him, lust after him, and still not trust him. Hee Jae can’t live on that. That’ll never be enough for both of them. The thought that she’s starting to believe in whatever she feels for him, too, means they’re getting there.

He’s already ensorcelled, already under her spell. At any other time, that thought may be enough to worry him, to get him take a step back, to take precautions against whatever hurt, or damage may come. But this one insight protects him: he knows she doesn’t want a victory.

Only love to the full of his nature.

What she wants is a match. What she wants is him.

*

“I think we’ve had enough snacks.”

“I don’t know. You still look pretty hungry to me.”

The naughty grin gets to him. He can’t stop looking at her. It takes everything he has to concentrate on staying still when all he wants to do is scoop her up into his arms.

“Why don’t you take care of that for me, then?”

One elegant eyebrow notches up. His question is a callback to that night, when he said:

“Go ahead. Comfort me.”

They both know they’d be doing something different if their phones hadn’t rung. This time, though, there won’t be any phone calls to get in their way. She moves closer to him on the couch until their bodies are barely an inch apart. Expressive, large, and brown, everything else disappears when he looks into her eyes.

“Yoon?” She asks her voice almost in a whisper.

“Jung Geumja?”

She breathes the next words against his lips:

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?”

Her gaze is intense, not looking away. The crazy heat from her body tells him he isn’t alone in this madness. The surge of excitement makes his fingers tremble. He reaches out to feel the rapid beat of her pulse in her neck reverentially.

_God._

He hasn’t even touched her and he’s already a wreck. But she’s counting on him to stay in the moment. He’s not going to let her down. He wants to rush, wants to kiss her, wants to be inside her in seconds—

“May I?” He’s polite as he starts discarding his shirt. She laughs, amused, and entertained by the barely restrained desire in his movements. His concentration is admirable.

Moments later, she holds onto his forearms as he settles between her legs, as he leans over her, pressing her deeper into the cushion. She imagines the muscles on his back ripple.

“I’ve heard about this body.” At his questioning glance, she says: “You have groupies at the office, you know.” Then she smirks: “I’ve seen this at the gym, too,” she says, running a fingertip from his breastbone to the toned abs. “I’ve wondered how it would feel like—”

But then he sinks into her. And all she can think of is:

_Bloody. Fuck._

She looks at him with narrowed eyes. Only for them to flutter close when he pulls back and slides inside her a little. Again. She’s never been this way. She’s never been this wet for anyone but him.

He drives into her, slowly, gaining momentum, gaining speed. She wants to move against him, rub against him but she tightens around him instead. After one hard thrust, she pushes up against his chest, biting back her lips against a moan. The contact sends pleasure coursing through their bodies.

Sweat glows on her skin and the arousal on his face just makes her own even more acute. He grabs her hips and bucks into her. She gasps loudly at the force. It’s the first time he’s been this rough.

“Byane.” He leans over, burying his mouth into her neck. She shivers against his voice. He tries to ease his thrusts.

“No,” she says. “Use me. Use me until you come.”

He doesn’t hear anything else after that. He drives himself deeper, hearing her moans. He keeps going until the tension bursts. Hee Jae closes his eyes against the sensation while Geumja cries out, the pleasure overtaking them both.

“Hee Jae—”

“I love hearing you say my name.”

*

Geumja sneaks a glance at Hee Jae beside her. They’re at a restaurant, meeting up with his brother and dad. For some reason, she remembers that moment in the cable car, when putting a hand on his chest was enough to fluster him. Those were the days. She nearly shakes her head before she remembers where they are.

He’s not so easy to fluster now.

When she sneaks another—a longer—glance, she notices a small bruise around his wrist. She wants to touch it. She wants to kiss it. She wants to—

“You’ve got a hickey on your neck?” His brother points out.

Silence reigns at the table.

Hee Jae coughs and his father reaches for a drink, clearing his throat. Geumja tries to control a sudden burst of laughter but a few chuckles escape. They all look at each other and laugh.

**4**

Geumja remembers the first time they get together.

It’s a few days after she falls asleep in his arms; when she tells him about her stepdad. She invites him over to the bar where they usually do team dinners. The drinks keep coming that night.

People at the office know Hee Jae isn’t used to soju. His groupies have done an excellent job of informing everyone who cares to listen. She believes they even have a secret newsletter. She’s seen Ji Eun giggling over something on her monitor at one point. Maybe Ji Eun is even a founding member. She wouldn’t put it past her.

But Geumja is surprised at the speed with which he seems to succumb. It’s only been a few bottles. Is he really this much of a lightweight?

She ends up dragging him back to his apartment not long after that. He keeps babbling, his face coming close to her cheek, his voice against her ear, her hair, while she supports him. He surrounds her. She’s half-charmed, half exasperated.

Her heart skips a beat once, though, when she catches him after he sways, his body nearly folding into her, a little heavier than usual. His lips ghost over her cheek before nuzzling the side of her neck in what feels like a kiss.

The contact electrifies her, her next breath catching in her throat. Shivers overrun her body.

*

Hee Jae is a cheerful drunk.

His cheerful drunk self, though, is useless when she tries to open his door. After a few attempts to get him inside, she stops asking him for the code. At her wit’s end, she remembers a combination, thinks it’s a shot in the dark, and gives it a try.

The door opens. And she realizes he still hasn’t changed the code. It’s still Hee Sun’s birthday.

Or, maybe it’s more accurate to say: it’s still her birthday.

*

Every day she discovers something; some little detail that tells her what she already knows: he loves her. What surprises her, though, is that in every one of those instances, she finds something she’s said or done that gives her away.

How had he gotten her to tell him her real birthday, for instance?

She doesn’t revisit those memories often. She’d prefer to toss under the rug the days she’d spent as Hee Sun. Out of sight, out of mind. But she returns to that afternoon when she’d convinced him to change the password on his tablet. He’d agreed and asked about her birthday instead.

She’d lied to him about so many things already that one more shouldn’t have mattered. But the words stuck in her throat. She was surprised to hear herself telling him her real birthday. It relieved her later on, though, that she could say: not everything had been a lie.

Out of nowhere, lines from a song play in her head:

_“Does love last?”_

_“…The best thing that’s ever been mine.”_

It takes her back to that night in the bar when Hee Jae says he examines every instance, every interaction, and memory they have. Every kiss they exchanged. Here she is, too, examining those memories, taking them out, and apart, one by one.

She’s given herself away so many times that it’s no wonder he’s convinced she loves him. Whatever has led to this, they’ve been equally lost in each other the moment it began. She's been right there with him from the start.

In that light, she and Hee Jae are two peas in a pod.

*

She turns on the lights—she still knows where everything is. As Hee Sun, she knew the layout of this unit by heart.

That persistent voice inside her head asks: _what else do you still know by heart?_

She doesn’t bother answering that. She’s already gone back here a few times, while they were still figuring out how to beat Song Pil Jung. However, no matter how charged the air got between them whenever they’d be in close quarters alone, they’d understood that wasn’t the right time.

This time, though, who knows? After she’d fallen asleep in his arms, she’d wondered why he hadn’t pressed his advantage. She’d been vulnerable that night. It wouldn’t have taken a lot. She would have said yes.

Instead, he’d stayed, watching over her so she could sleep. He’d run out for breakfast in the morning and she’d woken up to a bag of pretzels from Auntie Anne’s.

*

She finally gets him into bed, wrestling him onto the covers. She’s already taken off his shoes by the door.

_Should I put him in a fresh shirt?_ But she’s not even done asking herself that question before she shakes her head. Being anywhere near a half-naked Hee Jae isn’t the best idea. Not when she’s a little bit tipsy herself. Not when the alcohol in her blood makes her ache whenever she looks at him.

He seems a bit uncomfortable, though, that she can’t leave just yet. Even when he tells her to. She tries to slide the covers from under him but gives up when he doesn’t budge. Grumbling on the bed, he’s cute.

Before she can stop herself, she reaches out to brush the hair off his forehead. She takes in the flushed cheeks, the full lips in a sulk, the heavy-lidded eyes. She imagines the body underneath his clothes and she feels her heartbeat stutter.

_Fucking hell._

She’s got it wrong. Cute isn’t the right word.

All that angst, those muscles, that stare—he looks like sin.

When she straightens up, she’s surprised at the hand that slips around her waist. She only has a second to look into his eyes before he flips her over. A minute later, she’s staring up at him in bed.

His eyes are clear and he’s wide awake. He keeps a firm grip on one wrist, the other one on her waist, and smiles. Geumja can tell sleep is now the last thing on his mind.

*

Hee Jae is always conscious of the difference in their height when he invades Geumja’s personal space. He moves with an underlying sense of caution whenever he touches her. He doesn’t want her to feel threatened or dwarfed by his size. At 5’6, she isn’t exactly small. His 6’2 height, though, makes her tiny in comparison.

No matter how sneaky or fit she is, he’s about a hundred pounds heavier. He’s well aware of that when he slips a hand around her waist and uses the momentum to turn her, to toss her onto the bed. He doesn’t give her time to think. He captures one wrist in a hold.

Surprise—and something else, something close to excitement—fills her eyes. Seeing her rendered speechless thrills him for a moment. To everyone else, Geumja is always in control. That’s obvious as soon as she steps into a room. But this time, he wrests that control away like it’s nothing, holding her down, pressing her deeper into the mattress.

This close to each other, she feels every inch of him. What thrills him even more than the contact—more than their bodies—though, is what he sees in her eyes. Or rather, what he doesn’t.

There’s no protest. No refusal. Only utter surprise. If she says no now, he’ll drag himself off her. If she’s uncomfortable in any way, if this isn’t what she wants, he’ll apologize, and spend the rest of the night—or the rest of his life—taking a cold shower.

But that answer doesn’t come. That makes him smile. The fear and anxiety dissolve. Excitement builds inside him instead.

He keeps the grip around her wrist and her waist tight, but not enough to bruise. He’s careful. For someone who comes off as so much larger than life, who kicks every hurdle out of the way, and whose stubborn will rolls over enemies like a bulldozer, it’s a surprise to find her skin so soft, so easy to bruise. He knows the emotional strength this body holds. But the way his touch makes her quiver, makes her pant and breathe harder, only notches the heat higher.

It’s true what they say about lovers: you drive each other’s excitement; you fuel each other to abandon; you make a home for each other’s desires. Every time you come together—the warm hands, the mouths—you make each other feel alive.

He wonders if she’ll always have this effect on him; if this fades away with the years. He can’t imagine a time when this woman won’t make his blood sing the minute she walks into a room, won’t leave his body restless with need, won’t emotionally destroy him with a smirk, a laugh, or a wink. Every kiss is a hard tackle to the back of his knees. He can’t imagine losing all that.

But even if they’re ninety and sex is only a fond memory, she’ll still bring him to his knees; she’ll still make him happy. And he’ll still need her—they’ll still need each other—in so many, many ways.

*

She's conscious of the firm muscles against her chest, the warmth of his skin. She knows what he looks like under his stuffy suits. She’s seen him at the gym a time or two. Plus, his groupies incessantly talk about how ripped he is, how his shoulders make him look good in a suit, and how they want to wipe the sweat off his skin with a towel.

She can’t blame them, not when she often thinks of doing the same thing. She imagines coming up to him to wipe off all that sweat, from his collarbone down to his chest and his abs. She doesn’t want to use a towel, though. That’s nonsense. Really, what a waste. Instead, she’ll lick off every drop of sweat with her tongue.

*

He makes it hard for her to breathe. She doesn’t realize she’s panting or that it springs from equal excitement and fright.

It’s not just the contact between their bodies, though—nor the firm muscles on his chest, his broad shoulders blocking off the light or the way he took over without a warning—that makes her say:

“Do whatever you want.”

He pauses at those words. Hee Jae knows she means them as a challenge—if the self-satisfied look in her eyes is any indication.

_But does she realize what she’s saying?_

“Jung Geumja?”

“Yoon?”

He leans forward, and whispers in her ear before he catches the lobe between his teeth:

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that.”

Her shaky exhale takes her by surprise. The register of his voice scrapes against every raw particle of flesh and nerve. He sounds so different. It takes her a moment to recognize the need and lust.

*

When he takes her mouth, she expects it to be rough.

They’ve waited months for this moment. She can be honest enough to admit they’ve been dancing around each other ever since they’ve put Choong on the A-list of law firms in the country. It’s been one thing after another once they defeated Song Pil Jung: building a team, acquiring clients, buying that building right until they’ve caught the man who killed her stepfather, forcing Geumja to take in a breather.

But when it comes, his kiss is a soft sigh on her lips. What some might say a dreamy kiss. Dreams don’t impress Geumja, though. She’s seen too much of reality for that.

She can’t afford to show any weaknesses. She’s known that long before she found herself balancing on that ledge, wind in her hair, the sun in her eyes. If she’d tipped over in the slightest, if she’d lost her balance, she wouldn’t be here right now.

She remembers the uncertainty, not quite sure whether to take that final step into the abyss, whether to leap or stay. She’s learned to keep that instinct, that fear, intact. It’s what keeps her from giving people her complete and absolute trust.

Hee Jae demolishes that reserve and distance, though. He knocks those walls down one by one. She doesn’t understand how he does it; or why she wants only him.

She only knows he feels right in her arms.

*

Geumja likes it rough. But her breath hitches when he kisses her. The uncertainty, the nervousness in his eyes, and then the need, the confidence that builds when she doesn’t say no. He smiles at her before he tugs her closer; before he unbuttons her dress and drags the hem up her hips.

*

She’s been in his fantasies for so long—first as Hee Sun and then as Geumja. He’s never known want this immense. He’s never longed for anyone like this; has never laughed so heartily in his life as he has with her.

But he’s been careful to keep all that leashed. He doesn’t want to scare her away. For someone so fearless, she’s skittish about giving him what he wants. Maybe because she understands that he wants so much more than her surrender.

He wants everything.

That’s why he doesn’t rush. Even when she reaches out, her hands pleading for him to hurry, trying to get him inside her. He shakes his head, smiling, and continues to taste her and stroke her everywhere with attentive, exquisite patience. She wonders why she finds his touch—his carefulness—thrilling when she’s always liked the edge.

But Hee Jae knows her history and realizes how easy it is for someone to be damaged. He works her up until she groans in pleasure, with nothing but his lips, warm fingers, and inventive tongue. When the spasms hit, she feels the rest of her body disappear.

When she squirms away, sensitive after that release, he holds her down gently, hands wrapped around her thighs. He keeps her where she is, tastes her to the full. He devastates her with tenderness.

*

“How strong do you think you need to be? How much do you need to trust me before you let me in?”

The words echo in her head when he moves over her. Her body is responsive, alive with sensation and heat. When he slides inside her, she’s already wet. There’s a little soreness, a little bite, but it doesn’t bother her.

“You’re so beautiful,” his eyes on every feature, even on the errant mole on the right side of her neck. He wants to kiss it. He wants to touch it. He wants to—

He can’t help himself. He’s crazy in love with this woman.

When sucks in the soft skin of her neck, she’s not prepared to lose control so quickly. Her body trembles when he slides back in. She reaches out to hold his nape, keeping him to her as she loses control and sobs out his name.

_Hee Jae._

When the release bursts through her, her first thought is that it’s the first time she’s been helpless after so many years. It’s the first time she’s let herself be helpless again.

When he tightens his hold around her, when he comes, she understands that this is how he loves her: he creates a world where she can be fragile, where she can be helpless. He reminds her that delicate things are good things; that being careful is exciting; and that it is all right to expect this level of care; it is all right to ask for gentleness.

*

The next day, Geumja shows up at the office in a turtleneck. Everyone is so used to her diverse sartorial choices that nobody bats an eye, making it easy to conceal the hickey on her neck.

She hadn’t expected Hee Jae to leave a mark. Though lots of people think hickeys are only for the uninitiated, she thinks love bites are fun. She doesn’t mind. She just doesn’t want anybody else seeing them, doesn’t want anybody else speculating about whether her neck is an erogenous zone or not. 

However, in the course of her meetings, an overeager intern spills coffee on her and she has no choice but to change into the spare set of clothes she keeps at the office.

She’s focused on work all day. But not so much that she doesn’t notice the stares from many of the staff. She walks out of her office and turns to Ji Eun dutifully handling paperwork at her desk. 

“What’s with everyone?” She asks without preamble. If anybody knows what’s going on, it’s Ji Eun.

“They’re making bets.”

“About?”

“Who put the hickey on your neck.”

Ji Eun just looks at her boss with a deadpan expression before going right back to work, poring over the contracts. Geumja shakes her head with an amused, disbelieving laugh before she smirks. She crosses over to Hee Jae’s office, smiling at his secretary before she steps inside. He looks up, a question in his eyes.

“Apparently, everybody’s talking about my hickey today.”

Hee Jae’s response to that is a slow, satisfied smile. He crosses his arms. 

“Why are you here then? Aren’t you afraid they’ll connect the dots?”

Geumja stops when she’s standing right in front of him. She reaches over his desk to grab the end of his tie. It takes only a slight pull from her to tug him closer.

“I’ve already given them something to talk about. Should we give them a little bit more?”

He smirks. In a minute, she covers his mouth in the kind of lip-lock that leaves the identity of the man who gave her a hickey last night in little to no doubt. Moments later, cheers from different parts of the office fill the air. Hee Jae and Geumja don't notice.

They're much too busy kissing.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note:**

> Will try to update soon.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! 😊
> 
> For more of my stories, visit me and my moots over at https://noth1ngremainsunsaid.wixsite.com/website/


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